Way Back Home Pt 2
by PoeticallyPathetic19
Summary: Set after Hard To Love You and the final chapter in the Way Back Home series. Do I really need to post another warning? It's Wincest and always will be.
1. Chapter 1

When Sam woke the next morning he felt like he'd died and come back merely to suffer. His entire body ached and his head pounded. He wasn't used to sleep and finally getting so much of it had wreaked havoc on his system. He was instantly thankful he'd paid for the week and at the same time so very, very regretful.

Because now as he became aware of every ache and complaint his body had, he also became aware of a presence in the chair furthest from the bed. An achingly familiar presence.

For a moment Sam wondered if it would be possible to pretend that he was still asleep. But like the decision to avoid his brother had been taken out of his hands, so had this one.

Dean stood and moved towards the foot of the bed, a hand outstretched and blessedly holding a cup of coffee for him. He wordlessly sat up and took the coffee, not daring to look at him. This would be interesting.

His brother took his seat in the chair by the window again and waited as Sam finished his coffee. Neither said a word for the next hour, both staring down at the coffee in their hands as if it held all the answers.

It was becoming clear to him that Dean had no intention of starting this conversation, even if it was his idea to have it in the first place. He was the one that had come here, he wanted something. Why should Sam be the one to point it out? But he was going to if he wanted to keep what was left of his sanity.

"Hey," he finally said, clearing his throat.

"What are you doing here Sam?"

And there it was. The question that led them straight to hell. Okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic, but it sure felt like hell. After a month of no sleep, too many dreams, and too many regrets, this was just too much. One good night of sleep had cost him his denial, his avoidance, and probably pretty soon what was left of his dignity.

Fuck sleep.

He shrugged, trying for casual. Why was he here? Because someone had a sick and twisted sense of humor? Or his connection to his brother was so out of control that he'd actually followed him here unknowingly? Either way, this sucked without question.

_What the hell was with that_, Dean fumed. A shrug? He'd asked a real question, he expected a real fucking answer. Especially when his baby brother who had run off to college magically appeared in a bar just outside of nowhere he just happened to be in.

Sitting at the bar, looking as much like a kicked puppy as ever and throwing back a few beers. He was underage, in the wrong damn state, and with the wrong people. Dean thought he deserved an answer.

"You're supposed to be at Stanford," Dean pointed out needlessly.

_Well thank you very much captain fucking obvious_, Sam thought bitterly. He was supposed to a lot of things. 'Supposed to' had gone to hell years ago. They both knew that.

"Am I?"

He almost flinched at the pathetic tone of voice. He hadn't meant to ask that question at all, it had just slipped out before he'd had a chance to think this through. A complete Dean move. Was he channeling his brother or what?

"I don't know Sam, you tell me."

That was a laugh. He couldn't tell Dean anything without running the risk of getting his ass handed to him. Dean was only willing to listen to so much before he let his fists do the talking. It was much simpler for him that way, wasn't it?

Sam wished half the time that he could be the same way. But he couldn't, it just wasn't him. He wanted to talk things through, figure things out. Dean just wanted to kick some ass.

A product of his childhood as stereotypical as that seemed. But true nonetheless. Dean had always shielded Sam as best he could without endangering him and had thus created a young man capable of kicking more than enough asses, but less willing to do so. Wouldn't his brother be disappointed?

Dean waited impatiently for Sam's answer. He was the one that had left. It had been his decision. What was he doing stalking Dean and then walking away like he'd never seen him, when they both knew he had?

And who was he to ask such a torturous question? Once again, this had been all Sam's decision. If Dean had had his way Sam would never leave. He'd be stuck just like Dean. A thought that made him uncomfortably think twice about that.

"Maybe Stanford isn't the answer," Sam admitted with a shrug. He hadn't intended to voice that thought either, but somehow around Dean his mouth seemed to work all on its own.

"Sure seemed that way a few weeks ago."

"That was a few weeks ago."

"What are you doing here Sam?" he asked, quickly losing patience with the whole thing. He couldn't just change his mind a month later and coming running back after all the pain he'd caused. _He'd wanted this. _Was Dean the only one that remembered that?

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "This is just where I wound up."

"What, got lost on your way to Lit class? Because I gotta tell you, you're going to be very late to your next class."

Leave it to Dean to make a joke out of anything. He was being honest with him like he'd wanted and already he was throwing up defenses. Hell of a lot a good that was going to do them.

Dean bit down on his next smart remark. He'd forced this meeting, he'd wanted to tie up loose ends and finally be completely honest with Sam. Instead he was being cold and closed off, exactly what had driven his brother away. What in the hell was wrong with him? Couldn't he be honest with Sam for two damn minutes?

Sam shifted, the blankets falling to his waist to reveal Dean's t-shirt. The one he'd given Sam before he'd left. His heart skipped a beat and he had to swallow back a sound of surprise or pleasure, he wasn't sure which.

Sam frowned and took in Dean's suddenly expressive face. He watched as his brother quickly hid his surprise. What had shocked his brother so much? It wasn't like he hadn't seen Sam in bed a thousand times. He'd been standing there for a good five minutes and sitting there for God knew how long. It wasn't like it was something new.

He glanced down at himself and blushed as he realized he was wearing Dean's t-shirt. It wasn't that surprising really. He'd been wearing it almost every night since Dean had given it to him. He just hadn't expected Dean to ever know that.

"What are you doing here?" Dean asked again, swallowing thickly.

"I don't know," he repeated. "I-"

"Don't say you just wound up here," he snapped. "You're not even in California anymore."

"Really, Dean? I didn't know that."

"What are you doing here?" he repeated, brushing Sam's sarcasm off.

God, couldn't Dean do anything other than make things harder on him? He hadn't planned any of this. How the hell was he supposed to know that Dean was going to be in that bar? And did he have to remind Dean that he had been the one to break into his hotel room and not the other way around?

"Right now being extremely irritated."

"That makes two of us Sammy boy. Now answer the question."

"I don't know Dean!" he yelled. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you that before you get it! I don't know. It's not like I knew you were here, okay? I just sort of wound up here."

"Then I guess you can just sort of find your way back too."

Sam stared up at his brother in disbelief. Was that what Dean had come here for? To make sure that he caused Sam the same pain he'd caused him? To make sure he understood that he wasn't wanted anymore? Because if that was why Dean had come here, he'd succeeded.

"Dean, I-" he stopped. What was he going to say? I'm sorry? It was too little too late for apologies. If Sam had wanted closure, he had gotten it. Just not the way he'd hoped. Leaving town had been his best option last night, now he wasn't sure he had _any_ options.

"Goodbye, Sam."

Sam nodded. If he'd had any doubt it was erased by the seriousness in Dean's voice. This was over. His life was over. No family, no school, nothing. He had a few friends but it wasn't the same as his brother. They'd never been able to compare to his brother.

"Goodbye, Dean."

He slumped back on the bed as he watched Dean walk away from him. The slamming of the door echoing in his ears. Had this been what it was like for Dean when he'd left? This drowning feeling, like he had nothing left to hold on to? His chest heaving with the breath he couldn't quite seem to catch? Such intense pain he couldn't bring himself to move even if he had wanted to?

If this was the pain he'd inflicted on his brother he couldn't blame him for being the one to walk away this time. He wouldn't have been able to withstand this feeling twice over. He could hardly stand it now.

Silent tears slid down his cheeks, giving him one thing to be grateful for. That they hadn't started until after his brother had left.

Sam rubbed his chest absentmindedly, trying to ease the ache there. It wouldn't help he knew. The only thing that could soothe the ache in his chest was the burn of alcohol going down. And even then it was only a temporary solution for a permanent problem.


	2. Chapter 2

-Note- Here it is guys! The conclusion! I know it took forever, and I struggled with it a lot. But I hope you like it, I hope it's better than expected, and I hope you leave lots of love. Or at least reviews. -Note-

_He never listened to me  
When I'd say  
That things would never change _

Dammit, what was wrong with him? He'd gone in there to make things right with Sam, not fight with him more. He didn't want to walk away leaving things like that, but he couldn't seem to keep his damn mouth shut.

Then seeing him in his shirt…that had brought all his defenses right back up. He didn't understand it. It should have made it easier for him to admit to Sam what was going on in his head. But it hadn't. It had made him angry and he couldn't figure out why.

Swearing under his breath, he turned around before he could change his mind, and slammed the motel door open.

"Dammit, Sam!" he yelled, kicking it shut behind him. "You fucking-" He stopped, at the sight of fresh tear tracks running down Sam's face. "Sam?"

Sam's eyes flew open, red, watery, and flashing panic. Giving Dean a quick reminder of how a heartbroken younger brother looked.

xXx

Panic flooded his senses. Dean had left, he'd walked out on him and said _goodbye_. He'd really thought that was it. That he would never see his brother again. If he'd thought Dean was coming back, for any reason, including ripping him a new one, he would have held off on the tears. Would have hidden his pain.

He didn't want Dean to think he was fighting dirty, or that he was looking for pity.

Because he wasn't. He'd honestly thought that had been it. That he was alone.

xXx

"Sammy?" he said, his voice softer. He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder as he came closer, and fought against the impulse to run when Sam flinched away from his touch. "Talk to me. Did something happen? Is that why you're here? Sam, if something happened you have to tell me. How am I supposed to help you if you don't tell me what happened?"

Dean knew he was rambling, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. It had never entered his mind that maybe something had happened and the reason he was here was because he needed Dean's help.

He'd been stupid and selfish. He hadn't even considered he had good reason for finding him.

Except he hadn't really come looking for him. He'd had his chance to approach him and he'd left. Probably scared, if the way he flinched away from his touch was any indication.

He sat down next to Sam.

"Did somebody hurt you?" he asked, around the lump in his throat.

God, if someone had hurt Sam…

xXx

"Dean," Sam whimpered.

It was the only thing he could say, the only thing that ran on an endless loop in his mind. Somewhere, far in the back of his mind, he knew he should say that he was fine. That no one had hurt him, except himself.

Dean was worried, he was actually _worried_ about him. And he owed it to him, at the very least, to be honest with him.

The concern on Dean's face, the closeness of his body, kept his mouth shut and his mind in that endless loop.

xXx

"Sammy, what happened?" Dean demanded, stroking his thumb along his cheekbone.

Dean hadn't even realized he'd done it, until Sam's eyes slipped shut. He forced himself to stay quiet, despite the overwhelming need to comfort Sam. To pull him closer and say, _baby, talk to me_.

Sam whimpered softly again, nearly breaking his resolve. He shouldn't have been so hard on Sam, should have at least given him a chance to explain things. He was so angry with Sam, that he was letting himself hurt Sam in return. Which was exactly what he didn't want to do.

Sam took a deep shuddering breath and swallowed hard. "Do you remember that time, when I was six…you and Dad got into a fight? Probably one of the only ones you'd ever had, and you left," he asked softly, startling Dean.

Dean nodded, "Yeah, I remember."

xXx

Sam took another deep breath. He only had one shot at this, and Dean wasn't going to make it easy. He knew that, without a doubt. But he had to try. Had to explain in the only way he could.

The only time he'd ever come close to feeling this panicked anguish was when he was five years old. That was a long time ago, and Dean may not remember that day clearly, but Sam sure the hell did. He knew what it was like to watch Dean leave, for that door to slam shut behind him and wonder if he'd ever open that door again.

It may seem silly now, Dean was only nine or so; where the hell was he going to go? But Sam had been five and it had seemed so very real and so very possible.

If only he'd had this revelation before he'd left for Stanford, instead of after his brother walked out of his life.

xXx

He remembered that day as clearly as the day Sam had been put in his arms. They'd gotten into a fight over the way Dean treated Sam. Never letting anyone near him, constantly hovering over him and babying him. Even if he was six, Dad still thought that he was treating Sam too much like a baby. When Dean had defended his actions, saying that it was what Mom would want from him, Dad had gotten really angry.

Words had been exchanged, that even Dean could not forgive Dad for. About Mom, and about Sammy.

Then, turning around to find Sam staring up at him with tear filled eyes, _knowing_ that Sam knew, _understood_, what Dad had said, had gotten him going. He'd whirled back around and shot his mouth off, until Dad smacked him smartly in the mouth. He would have kept going if Sam hadn't fisted his hands in his shirt, silently begging for him to stop, before he got hit again.

After that, he'd left. He was afraid to show Sam anything else, to subject him to any more of Dad's unnecessary and hurtful words. He was already scared enough.

That had been a long time ago though, and Dean didn't know where Sam was going with this. But if it was going to make it easier for him to talk to Dean, then he'd listen. Even if it hurt more to think of the way things used to be.

"I was so scared. I'd never been left alone with Dad before, just you."

"Funny, you were worried _I_ was the one leaving," Dean snorted. That may not have been where Sam was going with things, but it was what had stood out most for Dean. That and after, when he'd come home to a sobbing six year old who had attached himself to Dean for the next two weeks.

"Can you imagine me being left alone with Dad? We'd kill each other if it weren't for you."

"But you didn't," he pointed out.

"I was five, it was too early for that. Later though…one of us would have probably died."

"I never would have left you," Dean said quietly.

"Yeah," Sam said, tilting his face down. "I know. But I was five, and I thought that was it. You were so angry when you stormed out of there."

"You were five, how do you even remember that?"

"Some things you don't forget. Some _people,_ you just don't forget."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "What's your point, Sam?"

"My point is…if that's how it felt to see you leave when I was five, how it felt to watch you leave _now_, I don't know how you can even look at me."

How could he look at Sam? That was easy. It was just like Sam had said, some things, some people, you just don't forget. To be able to forget someone or something, you have to be to move past it. And he couldn't move past, or forget the one person he'd ever given his heart to.

Like stroking Sam's cheek, he didn't realize he was kissing Sam, until he gasped and stiffened beneath Dean's hands. He sucked Sam's bottom lip into his mouth, in a reluctant goodbye, and pulled back.

"Sorry, I just…" he laughed dryly. "Wasn't thinking, obviously." Not in the present anyway.

xXx

Sam snorted and wiped a hand across his eyes. Dean wasn't thinking? Like either of them had been thinking since they'd started this conversation? It was kind of hard to think, at least properly, when emotions were running so high.

"Did somebody hurt you, Sam? Or is this all about running away?" Dean asked, shifting gears.

Neither of those answers were right. Separate or together, they just didn't cover things.

"I'm sorry, for everything, Dean. I didn't know it could hurt like that, that anything could hurt like that."

"You learn to get past things," Dean replied coolly. "Like everything else, you deal, Sam."

"I don't want to just _deal, _and I don't want you to either. I made a mistake when I left-"

"Sam, don't. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I left Stanford," he replied simply. It was the only answer he really had to give Dean. He'd left, and now he was here. End of story.

"What do you mean, you left Stanford?" Dean asked warily.

"It was like I was suffocating there, so I bailed. I _didn't_ come looking for you, hell, I don't even know where I _am_."

"You just happened to wind up in the same bar as me?"

Sam nodded. "Believe me, I wouldn't bother to come find you. I know you're angry with me. Torturing myself was not what I had in mind."

Dean shook his head and stood up. "Get your bags together, and I'll drive you back."

"Back where? I left Stanford."

"No, Sam. You had a temporary lapse in sanity. It happens. Get packed."

Sam stared up at Dean, disbelievingly. Was his brother not hearing him? He'd left Stanford. There _was _no going back.

"Dean, I left."

Dean ignored him. "Get packed," he repeated. And with that, Dean stood and left the room.

Leaving Sam to wonder what the hell had just happened between them. Dean had kissed him, had been worried about him. And only minutes before that he'd told him to get lost. That he'd never have anything to do with him again. Now he wanted to drive Sam back to Stanford.

None of this made sense.

_I never listened_

_Always forgettin'  
The way back home _

Sam stood slowly and got dressed, throwing a hoodie on over Dean's shirt. He couldn't bring himself to take it off, not now, when everything was dangling right in front of him.

He tossed what little he'd taken out of his bag back in, and reluctantly headed out of the room. He half expected to find Dean gone when he got outside. A way of paying Sam back for the pain he'd caused him.

Instead he found Dean slumped in the seat, behind the wheel. Refusing to look at him.

Sighing, he tossed his bag in the back and climbed in. This was a bad idea, and he knew it. He couldn't imagine spending hours in the car with Dean, taking him back to the one place Dean had never wanted him to go. At least not alone.

The engine roared to life, breaking the awkward silence for the time being. His brother peeled out of the hotel parking lot, and the awkward silence returned. Dean didn't even bother to switch on his music. A sure sign that he had too much on his mind to deal with anything else.

xXx

What the hell was he doing, offering Sam a ride back to Stanford? He'd stormed out on his brother once and then gone right back in to try and fix things. He didn't want to leave Sam, at that sleazy motel _or_ at Stanford.

He really did want to fix things. His stupid mouth just wouldn't let him.

Dean could feel Sam watching him out of the corner of his eyes, his mouth tightly closed. He knew it was taking everything in Sam, to keep himself quiet. Dean on the other hand was doing everything he could, to keep from being quiet.

They'd had this problem a lot between them over the years. Sam couldn't keep quiet, and Dean couldn't talk.

Not when it came to feelings.

xXx

Nine and a half hours, twenty failed attempts at conversation, and four thousand, six hundred and twenty-two slanted looks later, Dean pulled the Impala to a stop in front of Stanford.

It hadn't occurred to him that Dean didn't know where his apartment was, or that he didn't live on campus. It did occur to him however, that Dean knew _exactly _where Stanford was.

Sam could already feel his throat closing up, the suffocation he'd ran from, back in full force. It was a mistake getting in the car with Dean, and it was a mistake to let him bring Sam here. He should have refused back at the motel, or kept talking until Dean pulled over and forced a true, final ending for them.

It was better than starting a conversation, or _almost,_ staring a conversation, that left you more empty than when you started.

He shifted in his seat, slanting another glance at his brother, like he hadn't met his quota for the next decade, and found Dean tapping his fingers impatiently against the wheel.

Of course he'd be anxious to leave. This was the last place on Earth he wanted to be.

The last place on Earth, _Sam_ wanted to be.

Sam took a deep breath, grasping desperately at any explanation, any rational response to get Dean to understand, or to at least talk to him. Anything other then tapping his fingers and waiting for Sam to get the hell out.

Instead, his plan to remain in control of his emotions completely disappeared with a half begged, "Don't leave," Dean started, but said nothing. Obviously not as affected by the plead, as Sam was. "Please. Dean," he tried again. "I know I screwed up, but please…" _Give me anything, _he silently begged.

xXx

Dean's heart skipped a beat, and it was all he could do not to throw Sam down right there and kiss his senses right back into him. Things couldn't work. Dean wasn't cut out for this kind of life. He was a hunter. Asking Dean to stick around while Sam went to class was a dangerous request. One that could only hurt more in the end.

"Sam," Dean sighed, ignoring the pounding of his heart. "I don't belong here. We both know it."

"If you don't belong here, then I don't belong here," Sam countered.

"Please, Sam. We both know that isn't true. You _belong_ here."

"I left, remember?"

Boy, did he remember. "You said you didn't come looking for me."

"I didn't," Sam insisted. "I left because I was suffocating, not because I felt like subjecting myself to cruel and unusual punishment."

"Then why ask me to stay?" Dean demanded, slightly offended. If Sam hadn't been looking for him, if he thought it was torture to be with him, then why was he asking him to stay?

As if Dean had been the one to push Sam away in the first place.

xXx

"Because," he said quietly. "I think it hurt more to watch you leave, than to have you hate me when you're here."

He watched with half interest as a small study group headed past the Impala, focusing on anything other than his brother, and the awkward silence that had once again found them.

"I don't hate you, Sam," Dean finally said. He shifted in his seat, the leather crinkling beneath him.

Sam refused to let his hopes rise and continued to watch the group of students. "Close enough, right?"

"Not _even _close. Sammy."

"Then stay," he said, turning his gaze back to Dean. If he didn't hate him, if he didn't even come close to hating him, then why couldn't he stay? Why couldn't they make things work? Sam was sorry and he would do anything, to make things up to Dean. All he had to do was give him a chance.

xXx

Dean wished it were that simple. But it wasn't. Sam had a brighter future ahead of him. He had college, girls, and more importantly he could protect himself if that bright future ever darkened.

He didn't need Dean to hold him back.

Dean _wouldn't_ hold him back. He wouldn't be the reason Sam left Stanford, or continued down this path of lonely fights.

This was Sam's home now, it was where he belonged.

"Go home, Sam. Do what you came here to do, and don't look back."

xXx

Don't look back? What kind of thing was that to say to his younger brother? Sam had never left, with no intentions of not looking back. It was impossible and he wasn't stupid enough to try it.

But Dean was stupid enough to think he could.

"_You, _are my home, Dean. I knew it when I was five, and I know it now. It just took your leaving again, to remind me."

Sam sucked in a breath and chewed his bottom lip nervously, stunned that he'd actually said those words. That he'd let himself try so hard, when Dean was already shutting him down.

xXx

Dean's heart stopped beating all together then. His shocked silence prompting Sam to initiate the kiss this time. And it was even better than the one in the hotel, for that exact reason.

He wound his arms around Sam's neck, fisting a hand in his brother's hair, and let himself get lost in the familiar taste. He kissed Sam back fiercely, until his tongue swept a hot path along his bottom lip. Dean pulled back, afraid that if he let things go any further they wouldn't stop until he'd promised Sam the world.

"I want to," he said quietly, shivering as Sam's hand slid beneath his shirt. "But I can't give up hunting Sam, and I can't ask you to give up Stanford." Sam looked as if he were ready to argue with him, and Dean silenced him with a soft kiss, before he could start ranting. "I can't leave, I can't watch you walk away again, either."

"Then don't," Sam murmured, leaning forward to kiss Dean again, seeming satisfied with his answer.

He stopped Sam with a hand to the chest. "I don't know how to fix things, Sammy."

"It doesn't matter," Sam soothed, trailing slender fingers across the back of Dean's hand. "We can figure it out, as long as you stay."

"It's not that easy," Dean protested. If it were that easy, then they would have stayed together. It wouldn't have come to this.

"Yes, it is," Sam argued. "We can work things out. Eventually. Right now, can't we just…go home?"

Dean shook his head. He wanted Sam to be right. He wanted things to be that easy. But they weren't, they both knew it. And he was afraid that this time, he wouldn't be able to walk away from it.

xXx

Sam knew Dean was struggling with this decision, could see it on his broken face, but he also knew that they didn't really have a choice.

It was obvious when Sam had found Dean the first night he ran. And if that hadn't been obvious enough, the ache in his chest when Dean had walked out, was. Or the way that he couldn't control anything that came out of his mouth. He could go on and on, until Dean gave in just to get him to shut up.

It didn't change the fact that neither one of them could walk away from this.

"We'll figure things out," he promised. He took Dean's hand from his chest and threaded their fingers together. "I'm not delusional. I know it won't be easy. But can you honestly sit there and tell me that it's not even worth trying for?"

"No!" Dean exclaimed. "That's not what I'm saying."

"Good," Sam said, grinning. "Then stay. Try."

xXx

Dean groaned. He hadn't even agreed to stay and already Sam was planning things. He could practically hear the wheels turning in his brother's head. He wasn't going to accept a no, he wasn't going to hear a no, even if Dean said no.

The choice wasn't his to make anymore. Not that it ever had been.

How was he supposed to turn Sam down when he begged him to stay? He'd never been able to say no to Sam before. Fuck, if he could turn down Sam when he was begging.

He didn't bother to validate his brother's grin, or his words. Instead he sealed his mouth over Sam's and reassured himself with his taste that this wasn't a mistake. That staying was the best decision he had ever made.

xXx

Sam swallowed a whimper and pushed Dean back into the leather seat. _Yes, _that was a yes. Dean was _staying, _he was actually staying. No more arguing, no more hurting. God, no more wondering. Who knew suffocating could feel so good?

That's all it had taken, after all, for him to finally find his way home again. Past, present, future…whatever. This was where he belonged, that was the only thing he was certain of. The only thing he'd ever been certain of. And he wasn't going to forget this time.

\


End file.
